


Under the lights tonight

by frenchkiss



Series: dusted in gold [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:12:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4463273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchkiss/pseuds/frenchkiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s an A-list supermodel, Louis’s his make-up artist boyfriend. They’re something of a dream team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the lights tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [habibilouis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/habibilouis/gifts).
  * Translation into Español available: [Under the lights tonight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7100065) by [Softchaos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Softchaos/pseuds/Softchaos)



> HI GUESS WHO'S WRITING AGAIN
> 
> this fic was a mistake blame Ree aka habibilouis she made me do it
> 
> i don't own one direction or anyone affiliated and i have no idea how life as a model or make-up artist works this is purely fiction 
> 
> (also i know a lot of you have messaged me on tumblr about whether i'm still writing ziam and the answer is yes but the fic i'm working on at the moment is long and chaptered and i'm going to publish it all in one go okay cool glad we've cleared that up)

“Will you stay the fuck still?”

“What do you want from me?” Harry says loudly, shaking his head. Curls tumble in front of his eyes and Louis groans, shoving them back behind his ears rather harshly. “Okay, _ow._ ”

“I should have got you a headband,” Louis mutters, pulling back and staring at Harry’s face again. He’s been doing this for a good half hour now and honestly, Harry’s starting to feel a little unnerved. “You have so much hair.”

“The curls that get the girls,” Harry titters. “Or in this case, the curls that get the grumpy twenty year old boy with the adorable pout and jabby little fingernails.”

Louis smiles, wide and probably a bit false, as he pinches Harry’s cheek. Harry’s long since passed flinching at it so he sits there obediently and watches as Louis focuses in on him again, eyes flickering over every dimple, every dip, every acne scar on his face.

“Right,” he says eventually, trailing two fingertips ever so softly down Harry’s cheek. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to moisturise your face, then do your base, then give you a slight contour, followed by a smoky eye.” He hums pensively. “And maybe a pink lip. I think you’d look best with a pink lip.”

“You’re the boss,” Harry says simply, repositioning himself on the uncomfortable swivel chair that comes as standard in their minimally fitted university bedrooms. “Not exactly sure what any of that entails but I trust you to make me look like a star.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I’ll do me best with what I’ve got available,” he says, pretending to sigh. Harry pulls a face and reaches out to pinch him on the hip. “Har- _old._ ”

“You said I was the prettiest earlier,” Harry pouts, dramatically sticking out his bottom lip as far as it will go. “The prettiest boy you’ve ever known.”

“Did I say that?” Louis says, putting a finger on his chin. He pretends to think about it until Harry pinches him again. “Alright, _alright._ ” He puts down the brush he’s holding and shuffles forward to awkwardly perch atop Harry’s thighs. Harry’s hands go to wrap around his waist and he ends up nearly dropping him, which makes Louis yelp and cling on tighter. Harry’s secretly not so sad about that.

“Oops?” he says sheepishly. Louis rolls his eyes.

“I _was_ just about to tell you that you’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen, but then you nearly dropped me so you’ve been demoted.”

“I know you’d be lying anyway,” Harry hums, not bothered. “Have you met Zayn?”

“Of course I’ve bloody met Zayn,” Louis says. “But ‘m not shagging Zayn, am I?”

“Should bloody hope not,” Harry says warningly. Louis rolls his eyes again.

“Of course I’m bloody not,” he snaps, squirming and readjusting himself in Harry’s lap. “And anyway, he’d be shit to practice on. All those…” He waves his hand. “Like, natural angles. The finest natural contour I’ve ever seen. I need someone who’s a bit more…” He waves his hand again and fixes Harry with a look. “Soft?”

Harry pretends to gasp. “Are you calling my face fat?”

“Absolutely not,” Louis says. “I’m calling your face a face. It’s a normal face. It’s only Zayn’s that’s otherworldly.”

Harry sighs. “A normal face. I’ve gone from being the second prettiest boy my boyfriend knows to having a _normal face._ ”

“Yeah, and I’m about to make it an exceptional face,” Louis drawls. He kisses the pout off Harry’s mouth and scrambles off him. “Are you ready?”

“As long as I don’t end up, like, with a face so slathered in make-up I can’t actually move it anymore,” Harry says warningly. Louis makes a noise of agreement and nods, then reaches over Harry to rummage in the make-up case on Harry’s desk. It’s only a small collection so far, all very basic drugstore brands that Louis buys at the start of terms when his student loan is fresh in his bank account, but Harry knows he’s going to do amazing things with them. He has every faith in Louis becoming amazing.

To prove his point, Harry snags Louis’s wrist and tugs him back so they’re eye to eye again. Louis’s face is set and focused, but Harry knows him better than anyone.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “I’m joking. I know you’re gonna make me look amazing, yeah?”

“I know,” Louis says haughtily, but it’s with a cockiness that Harry can see right past. “I’m a talent. Miss Paige has already told me I’m a natural at it.”

“Yes, I know she did, babe,” Harry agrees, but he doesn’t let up his grip. “But I know you’re nervous. You’re not fooling anyone.”

“But I’m an actor,” Louis says, drawing out the second syllable. “Fooling people is in me blood.”

Harry tuts. “Not your boyfriend though,” he says gently. “And I know I’m your first.”

“You were my third, actually,” Louis sniffs. Harry pinches him with his free hand.

“I’m the first person you’ve ever put make-up on aside from yourself, you annoying little squit.”

“Squit?” Louis repeats incredulously, trying to deflect. Harry sighs.

“You know what?” he says. He drops Louis’s wrist, closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “Just put it on me. I’ve had enough. Make me beautiful.”

There’s a second of pause and then Louis’s lips are on his, soft and gentle and warm. Harry kisses back, a flick of tongue coming out as he tries to suppress his grin. Louis giggles and cups his face, thumb coaxing open his eye so they’re looking at each other again.

“You’re a sap,” he tells him. “But thank you.” Harry grins softly and sits up a bit straighter, always so smug and pleased when Louis goes all pliant and soft in that mood that he only reserves for Harry. They’re both so young, just first years at uni, but Harry can’t imagine finding anyone who he meshes with or cares for deeper than Louis, despite his reluctance for mushy stuff and his merciless teasing. He’s in love with a pissed off kitten.

“You’re welcome,” he replies gently, face breaking out into a wide grin. “Now make me fit for the catwalk.”

He gets another one of Louis’s famous looks thrown his way. “You’re already fit for the catwalk,” Louis tells him, pumping out some foundation onto the back of his hand and dipping his brush into it. “Second prettiest boy I’ve ever seen, remember?”

Harry doesn’t respond, just grins and lets Louis work his magic.

*

The first time Louis ever saw Harry Styles, he had a crying baby in his arms and vomit streaking the shirt he’d so meticulously picked out.

As it happened, randomly assigned rooms in uni halls turned out to be a blessing in his favour. Harry had dumped his box of books on the floor and hurried over to him, taking little Doris from him tentatively, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to hold a new housemate’s baby before they’d even exchanged names, so Louis could rinse his top in the kitchen sink. Much to Louis’s surprise, she’d stopped crying almost straight away, instead squealing delightedly when she realised there was a necklace around this boy’s neck for her to play with.

When Jay came back from the car to find her youngest in the arms of a complete stranger and her eldest chatting away to him like they’d known each other years, she didn’t even seen surprised. If you ask her about it now she says she mentioned to Louis on the way out that he was a catch, not that either of them remember. Louis will admit that he was probably a bit distracted, though. Harry is very distracting.

Not only did the uni halls bring him his boy, it also brought him to six of the greatest people he’s ever met on top – three lads and three girls that became his best friends in no time at all. Vodka shots and awkward fresher week activities turn out to be excellent ice breakers, and pretty soon Louis can’t imagine life without Zayn, Liam, Niall, Perrie, Sophia or El.

It’s only ever mildly awkward between all of them once, and that’s when Liam forces them all into the kitchen one day to discuss what Harry and Louis sleeping together means for the flat dynamic. Louis had (probably a bit rudely, looking back) snapped that it was none of their damn business and he would shag whoever he damn wanted. Harry, rather more diplomatically, said that he and Louis were actually just starting out on a relationship and it would be what it would be. That seemed to placate everyone for the time-being nicely.

In their second and third years, they found two four-bedroom houses next to each other. Harry and Louis opted not to actually live in the same house (not that it mattered because Harry’s bedroom became a base for both of them without either of them really realising), and funnily enough by the end of uni, their little group had merged nicely into four couples, which led Harry to describe it all as fate and for Louis to roll his eyes and chastise Liam endlessly for criticising him in the first place.

It’s funny, Louis thinks, because looking back he really did have the best university experience he could ever have asked for, but he realised pretty early on into his first year that perhaps becoming a drama teacher wasn’t exactly what he wanted to do with his life.

But the thing is, it wasn’t that easy to accept that what he might be into instead was, in fact, make-up.

It began with their practical workshops at uni. Being drama students, it wasn’t simply about learning lines and then performing; it was about costume and set management, lighting and sound, and eventually, make-up. It started out pretty basic, just learning what to put on one’s face so it would look a little brighter and awake under the bright stage lights, but after only a few lectures and practice sessions both Louis and his tutor noticed he had a real flair for it. She was nothing but complimentary, but for the first few months it left Louis feeling a bit weird, a bit… confused.

Louis’s sexuality hadn’t exactly been the easiest road. It took him a while to get to grips with it, so when he did come to the rather shaky conclusion that he was more interested in make-up than he’d perhaps like to be, it wasn’t the most fun. No, it was snapping at Harry much more than he warranted and retreating in on himself unlike he had before. He was well aware he was being stupid, and it ended up taking a lot of tequila and a big long cry in Harry’s arms to snap him out of it.

Getting into it was harder than he thought, too. It took several trips down to Superdrug with El and Perrie for advice and some test subjects for Louis to finally fork some money out on some very basic starting pieces – a foundation, some brushes, a couple of lipsticks and an eyeshadow palette. Over time his collection managed to grow, and he was only a little bit embarrassed when Harry bought him all the products he was missing for a joint birthday and Christmas present.

“Harry,” he’d breathed, a little shell-shocked, the threat of tears very real and very present. The bag Harry handed to him was filled to the brim, and every individual thing is wrapped up in neat little Rudolph wrapping paper. He picked up the first one, shaking his head in disbelief as he ripped the paper off, and turned over a compact of blusher, bright pink and just what he wanted. “Harry, oh my god.”

“Do you like it?” Harry asked, clearly nervous. “I wasn’t sure of the colours to get so I just got what Perrie said would suit your skin best, or what we both reckoned, I don’t know…”

“I love it,” Louis cut him off, dropping the wrapping paper to the ground and reaching forward for Harry’s hand, which he squeezes gratefully. “I seriously love it. This is… thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Anything for my boy,” Harry said, soft and serene. Louis’s so in love he could cry. “Open another one, go on.”

The next parcel is a tube of mascara, a bright orange tube with blue writing that Louis recognises instantly as one he would steal from Perrie on the regular. After that came a couple of eyeliner pencils, followed by a contour kit, several more lipsticks, a brow gel, some eyeshadow brushes, three types of face powder, another bottle of foundation, and finally at the bottom…

“You got me a Naked Palette?” he had gasped, unwrapping the slim box with trembling fingers. “Harry, Jesus, these things are so expensive, what the fuck?”

Harry shrugs. “It’s your birthday, and Christmas, and I love you. You deserve it, babe.”

Louis stayed wonderstruck and speechless for possibly the first time in his life. He gingerly uncapped the lid, admiring the twelve gorgeous shades inside the brown box. There was so much he could do with this palette, so many looks he’d wanted to try after watching a million and one tutorials on YouTube, and now… now he _could._

 _“_ I love you so much,” he said, for lack of anything else to say. “You… you…” He really didn’t know what to do either, so for lack of anything better he sets everything down on the floor carefully and throws himself in Harry’s arms. “You’re the best person I could ask for, I hope you know that.”

“Just as well I’ve got the best person I could ask for then,” Harry grinned. With Louis in his arms he carefully let himself be pressed onto his back, with Louis hovering over him. They’d only been together about four months at that point, but even then Louis thought Harry was the best thing in the world.

“Kiss me,” he said quietly, then kissed Harry before either of them could move. Harry gasped and sunk into it, hands fisting in Louis’s soft hair, and they’d kissed for so long that it was dark outside when they pulled apart. Even as Louis moved up, Harry chased his lips, pouting when Louis licked over them tantalisingly, yet stayed out of Harry’s reach.

“You don’t… you don’t think I’m…” he blurted out suddenly, thighs tightening around their perch atop Harry’s, “I’m not, like, a weirdo, am I? For wanting this?”

“Hey, no,” Harry said, scrabbling to sit up. He ran a finger over Louis’s bottom lip, still a little tacky with the lipstick he had taken to wearing most days, and pressed his lips to them once more, pulling away before Louis had time to kiss back. “I think you’re Louis, and I think Louis loves make-up and I love Louis.” He shrugged. “Simple as that. You’re into what you’re into.”

“Yes, but…” Louis sighed, clutching a little tighter at the front of Harry’s garish Christmas jumper. “What if… what if it wasn’t just something I liked?” He swallowed nervously and Harry furrowed his brows. “What if it was something I wanted to pursue as, like, a career?”

Harry didn’t say anything for a minute or so. “Then… I guess I would support you,” he said, slowly and questioningly, like he’s unsure of what Louis wanted him to say. “Are you… do you want to drop out?”

Louis shook his head quickly. “God, no, no. Not at the moment, anyway. I want to get my degree, I want to. But maybe…” He coughed. “Maybe I’ll see how first year leaves me feeling. But I just think it’s maybe… maybe it’s my thing more than being a drama teacher is my thing, you know?”

Harry nodded like it was the simplest thing in the world. Louis clung a little tighter. “If we’re still together then, which, you know, I’d love to be but we don’t know, but yeah, if we’re still together then and you want to do something like Cosmetology school instead of a Masters or a PGCE then I’ll support you one hundred percent, okay? You never need to worry about what I think. It’s your life.”

“I know,” Louis breathed out, but that wasn’t it. “I just… I just don’t know if, like, others will support me. What if someone like Liam or Zayn…”

“They wouldn’t,” Harry said firmly, cutting him off before he can get out what they both know really would have been an absurd worry. “They honestly wouldn’t. And if they did I’d kick their arses. But we both know…”

“I know, I know,” Louis grunted, and knocked his head down so he didn’t have to look Harry in the eye anymore. “It’s just, it feels like this huge big thing and I feel thick even thinking like this.”

“Then don’t think it,” Harry said, and kissed him again before Louis could come up with a retort. “Just be you, and be proud of the fact that you’re incredibly talented at it already, and that you’re going to get even better. I love you, yeah?”

“I love you too,” Louis said back, because it was all he could think to say. “Can I practice on you? Is that… that’s not too far, is it?”

“You can do whatever you like, as long as it’s not, like, from a couple of brands; I’m allergic to some foundations.” Louis raised his eyebrow. “I have an older sister, don’t I? I got make-up put on me a lot as a kid. But I also have gross skin sometimes, so some of the chemicals were a bit harsh on it, I think.”

“I’ll be careful,” Louis promised with a nod. “Only the best for my boy.”

And so it stayed. Louis got better and better, practicing on Harry and Perrie and El and even Niall when he’d let him. After some soul-searching and a long conversation with his mum he decided to stay in uni, so at least he’d have the degree to fall back on, but they both knew him well enough to know that this was his goal now.

While Louis was getting into make-up, Harry was getting into fashion.

At the beginning of uni, Harry had been quite a preppy dresser. He wore a lot of blazers over his t-shirts and smart, tailored button ups buttoned to the top, tucked into skinny jeans. But he looked just as good in a big, fluffy jumper, or in big baggy band tops and a pair of shorts. Sometimes he’d try and fit his longer body into one of Louis’s outfits, and even then he’d look like a supermodel, tall and lithe and perfectly put together constantly, even if he was just running to Tesco or going to an early morning lecture.

But as he grew a bit older and learned how to dress himself a little more _Harry_ (to this day it’s the only way Louis can think to describe it), he began to experiment with his looks a bit more. Instead of buttoning shirts up to the top, he left them wide open with his array of necklaces and chest tattoos on show. The jeans got tighter, if that was even possible, and his long hair was often decorated with a patterned scarf. Every day was a new day, and every day he’d try something a little new, a little different.

He got a part-time job too, so with the money pouring in a little more regularly he started allowing himself some splurges. An Alexander McQueen scarf here, a pair of Saint Laurent boots there. But Louis’s not unconvinced that he could have worn the Primark equivalent and he’d still look a million dollars. It wasn’t about the money though, Harry would tell him repeatedly. It was about attention to detail and the little subtleties that make the outfit.

“Surely that’s something you appreciate,” Harry had explained one night over takeaway noodles. “Like, I never get it when you contour my nose, I think it looks the same. Yet you act as though it makes the world of difference.”

The noodles wrapped around Louis’s fork fell off and hit the table with a splat. “Well, excuse me,” Louis snapped, ignoring it completely. “Your nose contour always looks immaculate, you piece of shit. What do you _mean,_ you can’t see it?”

“I’m just saying,” Harry holds up his hand defensively, “like, it’s a big deal to you but not to me. Same with the scarf prints or whatever.”

Louis picked up his fork again and jabbed it at Harry’s chest. “That’s it. Tonight I’m going to talk you through contouring, a step by step lesson so you’ll never wonder why I’m contouring your stupid frog nose ever again.”

“That’s not my point,” Harry had sighed, but he let Louis do it anyway. He’s complete rubbish.

He did get it though. Both of them had such eyes for detail in both of their fields, it was no wonder they started excelling.

So it’s no surprise, in Louis’s not so humble opinion, that Harry gets snapped up by a modelling scout.

They’re at the Clothes Show, an annual event in Birmingham that showcases new trends and talent with stands there to buy clothes, make-up and accessories of all kinds. Louis surprised Harry with tickets after he got a promotion at his job, and the pair booked a nice hotel for a bit of a romantic getaway, deciding to make a full weekend of it.

It’s unsurprising that not many lads attend every year. Mostly the other guys that they see appear to be dejected looking boyfriends that have been dragged her by their other halves, but there are a few stalls with clothes for men here and there. There was also tonnes of make-up stands offering discount prices so Louis was in his element, forking over his own hard-earned cash for palettes and eyebrow pencils galore.

Neither of them knew that scouts were going to be there, so they were both not expecting it when they pulled away from a stall and a tall woman with a tight topknot and aggressive eyebrows stops them, eyes trained up and down Harry like a hawk.

“Hi there,” she says, Midlands accent thick. Louis has to force himself to hold in a snort. “My name is Marie and I’m here today looking out for some new talent.” Her eyes don’t stop trailing up and down Harry’s body and Louis snatches up his hand defensively.

“Talent for what?” Harry asks, squeezing Louis’s hand gently, calmly.

“Modelling,” Marie says, gesturing them to one side so they’re not blocking groups of people from passing. Louis and Harry both gasp at the same time and she chuckles. “Not expecting that?” she questions. Both of them shake their heads. “Which is a shame, because you here…”

“Harry,” he supplies.

“Harry,” she echoes, looking him up and down again, “have got some real model vibes going on." She clicks her tongue. “Have you done any modelling before?” He shakes his head. “Have you considered it?”

“Not even a little bit,” Harry says, laughing nervously. Louis squeezes his hand carefully again. “I mean, I like fashion a lot but I’ve never thought about it, like, as a career.”

“That’s a shame,” Marie hums. “Because you’ve clearly got an eye for fashion. Are you working now?”

Harry nods. “I work in a bakery, but I’m also at uni. Third year.”

“Any plans for after uni?”

“Um, no, not really,” Harry shrugs. “Well, Louis here…” Louis waves his bag-laden hand up for an awkward wave, “is going to Cosmetology school in London so I was just going to follow him and see what happens, you know, job wise. That’s as far as I’ve gotten at the moment.”

“I see,” Marie says, eyes flicking to Louis for a split second before they shoot back to Harry. Clearly she’s very excited about something. “Well, would you consider modelling now I’ve suggested it? Is it something you can see yourself doing?”

“Honestly?” Harry answers, shooting Louis a look. Louis grins widely. “I mean, I’ve got, like, two left feet a lot of the time. I’m a bit of a Bambi when it comes to walking and stuff.”

“We’d train you,” Marie says, eyes glinting. “We’d show you how to walk and talk and pose and glower.” She whips a card out of the back pocket of her impossibly tight trousers. “Think about it and give us a call, maybe?” Her eyebrows rise up a little higher. “I’d love for you to come down and try it. We’re always looking for models, especially blokes, to come forward. I think you’d be a real asset to our company.” And with that, she whips away, disappearing as quickly as she’d appeared.

There’s a couple of beats of silence and then, “Lou!” Harry exclaims, voice barely above a whisper. “Did that just… did she just…?”

“She did, babe,” Louis says, and then flings himself into Harry’s arms. Harry lets out some kind of squeal but he catches him easily enough, and the two share a few quick and chaste kisses there and then. “You’re going to be famous.”

Harry snorts at him like the idea is absurd and busies himself with sorting Louis’s array of bags into the biggest one so he doesn’t lose anything. Louis, however, just continues to stare at his boyfriend, proud and unabashed.

When they get back to their hotel later that night, Louis comes out of the shower to find Harry sitting on their bed in nothing but a pair of boxers, the card in his hand. He’s not even looking at it, just flipping it over again and again through his fingers, like it’ll burn him if he keeps it still. Louis drops the towel (what’s the point, really, his modesty with anything Harry-related went out the window years ago) and scrambles onto the bed, tucking himself under Harry’s long arm and cuddling into his side.

“Should I call?” Harry asks after a few seconds. “Should I try?”

Louis hesitates. “Not right now, love, it’s coming up to midnight.”

Harry pinches his forearm. “You know what I mean, Lou. Should I ring, like, in general?” He turns to look at him, and when their eyes meet Louis spies a flash on insecurity he doesn’t see on Harry often. “I mean, when she asked me what I’m doing after uni it kind of hit me, you know? I’m not doing anything, I would just be slogging away at a random job otherwise, I… I mean, not that I don’t want to come with you but you know.”

“I think you should,” Louis interrupts, desperate to get the sadness out of Harry’s voice as fast as he can. “I think you’re a beautiful bloke, obviously, but I think… I think it’s a career that sounds a bit, like, out there at first, and you’d learn and you’d be really good at it, love.”

“You do?” Harry asks in a small voice. “You don’t think it’s a stupid pipe dream or anything?”

Louis shakes his head. “I do not.” He forces himself to sit up a bit higher, and he gently coaxes Harry round so they’re looking at each other, hands laced in between them. “I think that you’re following me to a big scary city to work on my pipe dream, so I’ll support you if this turns out to be your big thing.”

“You would?”

“Course, babe,” Louis says, drawing one of his hands up to his mouth. He brushes a kiss over the back of Harry’s knuckles. “Haz, do you not remember two years ago when we had this exact conversation the other way round? Well, you’re supporting me going to Cosmetology school, aren’t you? So I’m going to do the same to you, always.”

“Always,” Harry echoes, then surges forward to kiss Louis hard. Louis squawks but lets himself fall back onto the pillows after he realises he’s not in imminent danger of falling off the bed, tugging Harry down on top of him with arms around his neck.

“My big model boyfriend,” Louis coos, giggling as Harry pulls a dramatic Blue Steel-esque face. “Beautiful and fashionable and up there strutting his stuff.”

“Well, I don’t know about strutting my stuff,” Harry says. “I imagine the modelling she was talking about was, like, for catalogues or whatever.”

“We’ll see,” Louis says, wrapping his legs around the small of Harry’s back and thrusting up. Harry grunts and his eyes drop closed, his next breath coming out a big ragged. “But, I mean, right now I’d quite like you strutting your stuff between my thighs. You can call them in the morning.” He grinds up again and Harry’s eyes go dark. “Does that sound like something you’d be interested in?”

“Definitely,” Harry smirks, kissing Louis again, hard. And, well, it wouldn’t be a romantic getaway for two if they didn’t spend all night shagging now, would it?

When they get back to uni, Harry pins the card to the pin board above his desk and it sits there for a couple of months before he gets the guts to call. Louis holds his hand all the way through, and when he gets called in for a consultation and to get a set of headshots taken he kisses him stupid afterwards.

Two months after that, Harry gets a call. They want him to model the Autumn/Winter collection for Topman for the website, as well as for the blown-up photos they use in their window displays.

He’s a hit from then on out.

*

Louis becomes Harry’s make-up artist mainly by accident.

Once the Topman photos come out, Louis finds himself glowing with pride all day every day. There’s a billboard that Louis drives past on the way to school every morning with Harry’s face on it, posing in a purple jumper and a blue and gold headband next to a girl in skin-tight jeans and a crop top. He looks gorgeous, face smouldering and focused, but Louis knows him well enough to know he was probably biting back a grin.

Topman call him back in after the billboard goes up and the website updates to ask if he’ll go on their regular books. He eagerly agrees, and when the autumn rolls around he goes down to their head office for another preliminary shoot. Since Louis doesn’t have school that day he goes down with him, and he snorts when they both get in the car and he realises how different they look. Harry’s in his trademark black jeans and a low grey scoop-neck top, a thick black pea coat draped over his shoulders. Louis, on the other hand, has a beanie pulled low over his head, with Adidas trackies and an old football jacket as his outfit.

“I’m going to make you look bad,” he teases. “What will they say when they realise your boyfriend can’t dress himself?”

“You can dress yourself,” Harry argues, fiddling with the car radio. “You look cute today, I like it. Love you in a beanie.”

“I know you do, love,” Louis grins. They stop at a traffic light and he drums his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the Ed Sheeran song coming through the speakers. “You look gorgeous, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Harry says brightly. “That’s the goal, anyway.”

“Big model boyfriend,” Louis coos. “Now where am I parking?” He groans. “Remind me why we didn’t just take the bus?”

Central London has always been a nightmare to drive in, so by the time they get there they’re running a bit late. They pelt through the halls of the building and get to the offices just in time, where they’re ushered straight through by a rather tall man in a well-fitting suit.

“We want to get you through hair and make-up before lunch,” he explains, opening the door for the pair to shimmy through. “If we have time we’ll do the photos, but lucky for both of you we are running a bit behind.” It’s only as he says it he seems to acknowledge that there is, in fact, two of them. “Um, who are you?”

Louis smiles, wide and false, as he holds out his hand. “I’m Louis, Harry’s boyfriend,” he says merrily. “I can go in there with him, can’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response before Harry yanks him through with him, because it’s not like he wasn’t going to go in there anyway. They hurry down the corridor, and at the end there’s a room with a plaque saying MAKE-UP on the door, so Harry moves to tentatively open the door and peers inside.

“Um, hiiiii,” he drawls, pushing the door wider so both him and Louis can go in. “Um, I’m Harry Styles and I’m here for make-up?” His eyes then go wide with recognition. “Louuuu!”

“What?” Louis asks from behind him, but Harry drops his hand and throws his arms around the shoulders of a blonde woman like he’s known her years.

The pair are hugging and jumping together and Louis can’t help but stand and watch with raised eyebrows. “Oh, shit,” Harry says, pulling back and squeezing her cheeks. “I didn’t know you’d be here again!”

“I work here, Harold,” Lou titters, reaching up to do the same to his cheeks. Louis feels ignored and coughs, and Harry turns back and reaches for him, his smile never faltering.

“Lou, this is _my_ Lou,” he says proudly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Louis, this is Lou Teasdale. She was my hair stylist on the Topman shoot and she has this daughter called Lux; Louis, she’s gorgeous! She loved my hair and she…”

“Pleasure,” Louis says loudly, cutting off his babbling boyfriend and shaking Lou’s hand. “Are you in charge of these curls then? Because let me warn you, they’re his selling point.”

“Hey!”

Lou giggles. “I am,” she says. “And pleasure to meet you too. This one wouldn’t shut up about you last time.”

“Yeah, he does do that,” Louis says, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist when he starts to pout. “Thinks very highly of me, he does.” He grins. “But I guess that’s cool because I think rather highly of him.” Harry beams and kisses the top of his head. Lou groans.

“Am I going to have this all day?” she asks, already sounding fondly exasperated. It’s the same tone Liam’s being using with him for their entire three years of friendship. Louis nods proudly and she groans again. “Right, come on. I’ve got hair to do. You go sit over there and I’ll get Tanya in to do your make-up.”

Harry sits down in a seat next to a well-lit dressing table and lets Tanya get to work. Louis sits down on a sofa in the corner of the room and pisses about on his phone until he hears Lou call Harry over. He looks up and catches Harry’s eye, and Harry sticks his tongue out at him. Louis doesn’t respond though because it’s all wrong, and he grabs his backpack and follows Harry over to Lou’s chair, where he takes Harry’s face between his hands and just stares at it for a few seconds.

“Lou?” Harry asks tentatively. “What’s wrong?”

Louis pulls back and shakes his head. “This is wrong,” is all he says. He pulls back upright and taps his foot a few times. “Babe, I’m sorry, but your make-up is all wrong.”

“Excuse me?” Tanya says from behind them. “What do you mean, it’s all wrong?”

Louis spins around, brows furrowed indignantly. “I mean, it’s not right for his face. This is just generic make-up that you’ve been told to do for the models, you can tell, but it’s not right for him.”

“I beg your pardon?” Tanya asks dangerously. “What on earth do you think is wrong with it, then?”

Louis sighs, taking a step closer to Harry and gently taking his chin between his thumb and forefinger. Harry turns his head easily, and Louis brings up his free hand to trace the contour line on Harry’s cheek.

“The bronzer you’ve used is much too dark,” he explains calmly, secretly loving how riled up she’s getting already. “And it goes too far down his cheeks, see?”

“No, I don’t,” Tanya shrills. “That’s how to contour.”

“No, it isn’t,” Louis laments. “If you’re going to do that stark a contour on a skin tone as pale as Harry’s, it needs to be a warmer brown. And it would have to be blended out a lot better than you’ve done, because it kind of looks like he’s been slapped right now.”

“Anything else you’d change while you’re at it?” Tanya huffs, cheeks bright red. Harry’s giggling, Louis can feel it through his fingers, so he pretends to think for a bit.

“Well, now that you mention it, his lashes are a bit spidery,” he says eventually. “And also he has a foundation line on his neck. Do you send all your models out looking like this?”

“He’s not wrong,” Lou says, tilting her head to one side. “His make-up looks rushed.”

“I have a lot of models to get through,” Tanya all but shouts.

“Look, let’s just take his face off and start again,” Louis suggests. “I just think…”

“Well, if you _just think,_ ” Tanya hisses, “maybe you should _just do._ ”

“Alright,” Louis shrugs, bending down to unzip his backpack. He pulls out his vanity case, stuffed pull to the brim, and sets it on the little table in front of Lou’s hair station. He hears Tanya gasp in surprise behind him,  clearly not expecting anything like this, which makes me glower a bit with pride. “Have you got some micellar water? The boy has sensitive skin, you see. Thank youuuu!”

There’s a second of hesitation and then Tanya stalks off back to her make-up station. Once her back is turned, Harry grabs Louis by the front of his top and yanks him down for a kiss.

“That was so hot,” he mumbles against his lips. Louis rests his hands on his cheeks and kisses him again, smiling wide. “Really gets me going when you get all knowledgeable and forceful like that.”

Louis snorts unattractively and pulls back, ruffling his hair. Lou squawks and goes back to attacking it with a comb. “Yeah, well, don’t get too excited, love. We’re in public.”

“Foul,” Lou says loudly. Louis ignores her and starts rummaging in his bag for some of the things he’s got specifically for Harry. Tanya comes back with the bottle of micellar water and a packet of cotton pads, and Louis gets to work wiping the make-up off Harry’s cheeks and eyes before he rubs moisturiser into the now-clean skin and spritzes him with some toning mist.

It takes Louis about twenty minutes to do Harry’s make-up again, and by the time he’s finished painting Harry’s lips in a lipstick that’s not far off his natural colour, Tanya looks bored and Lou looks very impressed. He takes a step back to admire his handiwork, nodding approvingly. He looks a lot better, even if he does say so himself.

As he’s packing his bag up, there’s another knock on the door and two young girls walk in. “Um, we’re here for hair and make-up?” one asks, voice shaking and Scouse accent coming out thick. They’re both absolutely gorgeous, but they both seem nervous and worried, so Louis will be damned if he’s going to let someone else do their make-up and ruin what is probably their first modelling job.

“Yeah,” Lou calls from behind him, gesturing them in. She shoots him a look, and then a wink. “I’m Lou on hair, and this is Louis on make-up and bass guitar.”

“I… yeah, that’s me,” Louis says, bundling up the bag under his arm. “Which one am I doing first?”

He panics internally for a few seconds, because as the girl who spoke at the door makes her way across the room he realises that he doesn’t actually have any idea how these girls are meant to be done up. It’s one thing to do up someone like Harry, because for one he could do Harry’s make-up in his sleep, but also there’s a lot less that needs to be done with lads than there is with girls. But he doesn’t let that show, and instead sets his bag back down on the dressing table and pulls out his darker foundations, lining them up along the mirror.

“Hiya, love,” he says as she plops down in the chair, rolling up his sleeves.

“Hi,” she says. “I’m Jade.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Louis,” he says, holding out his hand. She shakes it and giggles. “Right, what am I doing on you today?”

“Erm,” she says contemplatively, “I think they want a smoky eye and quite a bold, purple lip. Is that okay?”

“More than okay,” Louis beams. He reaches behind him and picks up his two bottles of foundation, holding them up to her cheeks. “Right, I’m going to moisturise you first, then prime you, then do your base. Sound good?”

“Sounds brilliant,” she says, then flicks her head forward so she can bundle her hair into a ponytail to keep it out of her face. “I’m not allergic to anything either, which is always a bonus.”

“It sure is,” Louis laughs, squirting some moisturiser into his palms and moving it deftly across Jade’s face. “You have really lovely skin.”

“Thank you,” Jade replies brightly. “I feel really lucky with it, it’s so easy to maintain.”

The two keep up idle chit chat as Louis does her face, using his trusty Naked Palette to blend out a beautiful smoky eye and even digs about to the very bottom of the bag, finding a Rimmel lipstick from his earlier days for her lips. She squeals when she sees her complete look and wraps him up in an excited hug.

“Oh, I love it!” she says elatedly, turning from side to side to look at her reflection from all angles. “Thank you so much, Louis, this looks lovely!”

“You’re welcome, love,” he says, and he just can’t stop smiling. “You’re going to smash it today, and I have to say, you do look fab.”

She skips off to Lou and then he ends up doing a similar style of make-up on the other girl, another new model named Leigh-Anne. Once she’s done and sent on her way, Louis plops down into their chair and tugs his beanie off, running a hand through his hair.

“Bloody hell,” he swears, rolling his neck back and forth. “Did I really just do the professional make-up of two people I just met before I sent them out to a photo shoot?”

“You did, darling,” Lou calls over from where she’s sweeping the floor of hair trimmings. “And you did an amazing job on all of them. Both girls looked insanely good, and bloody hell, I’ve been wanting to have a word with Tanya for months. She’s _shite._ ” Louis snorts. “Harry never mentioned you were a make-up artist though.”

“I’m not, not yet,” Louis admits. “I’m at Cosmetology school though, so I’ll be qualified by May.”

“Really?” Lou says, impressed. “I would absolutely have said you’re at a professional level already. I’ve been a stylist for a good ten years now and I’ve never seen anyone quite like you before.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Definitely a good thing,” Lou assures. “Honestly, come back when you’re qualified and I’ll put in the best word I can for you. You’d be an asset.”

“You think?” Louis asks, unsure. He hadn’t actually consider where he was going to end up when he’d finished school, but he supposes this wouldn’t be the worst job he could see himself doing.

“Definitely,” Lou says. “Anyway, I’ve gotta head; Lux needs collecting from her dad’s. I only work half days these days. But it was really lovely to meet you!”

“You too,” Louis says enthusiastically, going over to give her a quick parting hug. “Should I just, um, should I wait for Harry in here then?”

Lou nods and shrugs. “I guess so.” She nods towards his backpack. “I hope you have a book in there though, because I have a feeling they’ll be a while.”

Louis shrugs back. “I’ll be alright. Thanks for everything!”

He ends up dozing on the sofa for a little while, only to be awoken what feels like hours later by familiar hands shaking at his shoulder. “Baby?” Harry says softly, coaxing him awake. Louis blinks a few times then hurries to sit up, rubbing at his eyes like a disorientated child.

“Shit,” he grumps, voice rough with sleep. “Shit, god, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“That’s okay,” Harry says, voice soft and fond. “We’re done though, and I need to get us home.”

Louis sniffs. “Why? I’m not that tired, Haz, I’ll be fine.”

“Not so you can sleep,” Harry says with a roll of his eyes. “I wanna ravish the living daylights out of you.”

That definitely wakes him up. “Oh?” he asks, trying to sound coy but it turns into more of a yawn. “And what did I do to deserve such an honour?”

Harry pulls him to his feet and leans down to whisper seductively in his ear. “You being all authoritative like that, shouting at people for me like you did with that Tanya, really gets me going.”

Louis smirks into his neck. “Well, I suppose if that’s what gets you going then there’s not much he can do about it, is there?” Harry shakes his head, breath hot and wet on the skin behind Louis’s ear, so Louis grabs his backpack and Harry’s hand and yanks them both out of there and back towards the car park.

The drive thankfully isn’t too long this time and when they get home they tumble into their creaky, slightly broken bed, Louis spreading Harry out on the sheets and kissing every inch of his skin before he sinks into him, tight and hot and _hot._ Harry mewls and whines and squirms underneath him, and Louis fucks him until he comes all over himself.

They collapse onto the duvet afterwards, sweaty bodies clinging to each other as they come down from their highs, and Louis reaches for Harry’s hand, lacing their fingers together before he rolls over to face him.

“Happy Wednesday,” he says with another yawn. “Christ, Haz, you were so up for it.”

“I was,” Harry says, joining him with a yawn. “I loved you in there, you know. You were in your goddamn element, you looked so happy.”

“Well, I was,” Louis admits. “I got to do make-up for a professional shoot – _your_ make-up no less.” He pauses. “Did they like it?”

“Louis, I looked amazing,” Harry says, tangling their legs together. “So did Jade and Leigh. You’re _so good._ ”

“I know,” Louis smirks, but he tucks his head away and hides his blush in a pillow. “God, Haz, I could have killed her when she did your make-up like she did. It’s like she had no idea what she was doing.”

“But you do,” Harry says, nudging forward so his nose is pressed against Louis’s cheek. “I don’t want anyone else doing my make-up now, if I’m honest. I trust you to make me look amazing.”

“Of course,” Louis says. “I don’t know how much I just anyone else doing your make-up now, not gonna lie.”

“Then you do mine, always,” Harry says, just like that, as if it’s that simple. Louis furrows his brows.

“What do you mean, always? What have you got coming up after the shoots next week?”

Harry’s eyes are glinting mischievously. “Well, since they were so impressed with how things went today,” he drawls, teasingly slow. Louis jabs him excitedly. “Well, there’s a chance they might have asked me to do some runway work for the new collection unveiling this December.”

“You _what?_ ” Louis screeches, eyes going wide as he practically jumps bolt upright. “And you wait until now to mention it?” Harry nods, still smiling smugly. “Oh, you _wanker._ That’s amazing! Fuck you, but fuck yes! Jesus Christ, Harry!”

“Well, I knew you’d want to, like, celebrate with clothes on or something equally ridiculous,” Harry says, pretending to roll his eyes. “But yeah, I’ve got runway time, babe. I’m going to be a big beautiful model.”

“Damn right you are!” Louis howls, tackling him to the bed and kissing him for all he’s worth. “My boy’s gonna make it!”

Harry laughs but keeps kissing Louis as best he can, until eventually they’re just sort of awkwardly bumping mouths. Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s middle and settles into his chest, humming contentedly as Harry’s fingers move deftly through his hair.

“I’m going to tell them I have my own make-up artist, by the way,” Harry says lowly after about fifteen minutes of comfortable silence. Louis opens his mouth to protest but Harry talks right over him. “Like, I know you’re not yet qualified but you don’t need to be qualified when it comes to me. You’ve been doing my make-up for three solid years now, you could do it in your sleep.”

“Yeah, but…” Louis sighs, toying with one of Harry’s necklaces awkwardly. “Haz… I want to be your make-up artist so much, you know I love doing your make-up and making you look amazing for your jobs or whatever, but I’m…”

“Lou?” Harry asks slowly, carefully. “Lou, did I say something wrong?”

Louis sighs. “No, no, not really. It’s just… okay, I do absolutely adore doing your make-up, but I love doing other people’s too. I love being able to experiment and go a little wild and do a bit more that I can’t easily do with a bloke’s make-up.” He looks back up at him, bottom lip jutting out a little bit. Harry moves his thumb across it slowly. “I’ll be there every step of the way supporting you, yeah? And definitely doing your make-up when and where I can, but I don’t want that to be, like, the basis of my career.”

“God, Louis, no,” Harry says, shuffling down so they’re eye to eye. “I’m nowhere near big enough for that kind of thing anyway, but I just, like, need you. Of course I want you to do your own thing and have your own career and stuff, of course.” He looks vaguely hurt. “You’re my biggest support, Lou. I want you to be at these things with me because when you make me look good, I feel so much better about it all.” He shrugs awkwardly against the pillows. “You’re my best friend as well as being an incredibly talented artist, you know.”

Well, _now_ he feels like a twat. Heart racing a little bit, Louis surges forward and slams their mouths together, licking into Harry’s mouth tenderly. Harry’s squeak of surprise is muffled but he kisses back, soft and wet and loving. When Louis pulls away, he keeps pressed close, sharing Harry’s air and tangling his hands in Harry’s sweat-matted hair.

“I love you,” he breathes after a second, kissing him again. “I needed to hear that, but I’ll do whatever you need me to do, I promise.”

“I need you to kiss me again,” Harry says. He runs a finger across Louis’s chest tattoo and parts his lips. When they pull apart again, they sink back into the comfort of the duvet and tangle their legs together. “And I guess for everything else we’ll just see how it goes, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis murmurs, and he picks up Harry’s hand and twists his rings around. “I can definitely do that.”

*

Harry’s not the only one who gets scouted at the Topman Spring/Summer unveiling.

As requested, Louis accompanies Harry backstage to do his make-up, finding them both a secluded corner and waving off any help from other make-up artists. Tanya is nowhere to be seen, thank goodness, so Louis lets a much nice lady with an amazing head of ringlets explain what she wants for the male models. It’s very simple, nothing Louis can’t do quickly and efficiently, so he sets to work while Harry tries to calm his nerves with a strong coffee.

And it’s not like Louis’s trying to be difficult, but the thing is, Harry’s make-up is really rather plain. It’s nothing special, and barely showcases Louis’s talents at all, so while Harry is practically asleep under his gentle, careful hands, he yanks out his Naked 3 and blends the lightest dusting of purple onto Harry’s eyelids. It’s subtle, but he knows that it’ll compliment the green of his eyes just right and also go with his outfit. He knows it’s risky, but he’s nothing if not reckless, so when he jerks Harry back awake and tells him they’re waiting for him in Wardrobe, he trots off none the wiser.

He comes back a little bit cross, however.

“What the bloody hell, Louis?” he hisses, tugging him to one side rather harshly. “What did you do?”

“What did I do?” Louis repeats, fixing his face into the picture of innocence. “I did your make-up?”

“No, you fucking…” Harry growls, spinning round to look at himself in the mirror, “you fucking painted me purple, you fucking shit!”

“Only a little bit,” Louis says defensively. “It looks nice, babe, don’t fight it.”

“I am about to walk down the catwalk for the first time and I’m covered in glitter,” Harry snaps. “Louis, I’m nervous e-fucking-nough, what did you do this for?” He sighs and runs a hand through his fringe. “Alicia didn’t even say anything, she just glared at me so I ran.” He sounds like he might cry, but when Louis reaches for him he flinches back. “No, Lou. You can’t just hold my hand and make it all okay.”

Louis opens his mouth to apologise profusely ( _seriously, Tommo, what the fuck were you thinking back there?)_ when a voice from across the room barks over to them. “Harry!”

Harry’s head snaps up and he ignores Louis as he sidles past him. “Yeah?”

“Who did your eye make-up?” the woman from earlier asks. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her immaculate eyebrows feel like they could cut into Louis’s soul. He’d take another step back if there was somewhere to go. “Was it your boyfriend over there?”

Harry looks back at Louis, whose currently frantically chewing on this thumbnail, then turns back and nods. “Y-yeah, yeah it was him.”

There’s a long pause. Louis thinks he might be sick. “What’s his name?” the woman asks. Her heels click loudly against the floor as she walks a tad closer. “Is it Lewis, did you say?”

“It’s, um, it’s Louis,” Harry corrects, but instead of taking a step towards him like Louis’s secretly praying he will, he steps to the other side so the woman could pass him if he wanted. Fucking traitor. “I, um…”

With a shake of her head, the woman does step forward, gliding past Harry with care before she gets to Louis. He tries not to physically gulp, standing there rather uselessly like a deer caught in some headlights. “I, er…”

“You’re both quite eloquent, aren’t you?” she says dryly. Louis has a feeling she might be trying to tease. “Louis, yeah?” Louis nods. “You did his make-up?”

Louis nods again, slower this time. He’s confused – did they not just establish this? Why is she drawing out both his and Harry’s impending sacking? He’d rather just get on with it, _Jesus;_ all eyes in the room are on the three of them and he can see Harry over the woman’s shoulder looking anywhere but at him and he wants to cuddle him and cry a bit, and this is all because he was so _stupid_ and _reckless…_

“Tell me, Louis,” the woman says – now she’s closer, Louis can see a name tag clipped onto the belt loop of her trousers that reads _Alicia –_ “how did you manage to do Harry’s make-up with so much glitter and purple sparkles yet also managing to make him look like the best male model at the same time?”

Louis stares for a second, opening his mouth and then closing it again. “He, um, well I…” he starts, then pauses. “Wait, are you saying you like it?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Alicia says, sounding impatient. “He looks amazing. Bloody brilliant, in fact. And somehow you’ve made purple glitter look like it belongs on the male models, so please.” She gestures over to Harry, who Louis then notes with a sinking stomach is looking over at the exchange with a glare on his face. It makes him want to cower, despite the somewhat promising sounding words coming from Alicia. “What did you do?”

Louis kind of wants to push past her instead, ignore her words and explain to Harry that it’s fine and they like his look. But he can’t do that, yet he _can_ do make-up, so he swallows past the lump in his throat and just goes for it.

“Well, obviously as Harry’s my boyfriend I’ve done his make-up, like, a million times,” he explains. “I think the trick though is if you’re doing eyeshadow you’ve got to work out what’ll work with their eye colour, you know?” Alicia nods primly.  “So Harry’s eyes are a dark green. And with a dark green, well, it’s complimentary colour is red, isn’t it? So anything with red undertones will make his eyes pop and will really accentuate the colour of them. Purple eyeshadow looks good with every eye colour, though, I find. I just really love using purple eyeshadow, but I really love it on Harry, so I just thought I’d try a bit, you know?”

Alicia nods again, looking really rather impressed. “And what would you do if I asked you to recreate a similar look on some of the male models with, say, dark brown eyes?”

Louis feels like he’s in an exam. “Um,” he says as he taps his finger against his cheek a couple of times. “Probably a gold colour. Metallic shades really bring out brown eyes, and I’ve got one or two in my case that are bright yet subtle enough for me to do, like, quite a similar look to Harry’s with.” He furrows his brows as he thinks. “I could do a golden base and then bring some navy into the corners too, then go over it in a gold sort-of metallic crease shade. That could look quite interesting.”

Another nod. “I mean, most of this is all Greek to me, but you sound like you’ve got a really good idea of what to do,” Alicia shrugs. She turns and calls over to one of the models behind her. “Oliver? Come here a second.”

So focused is he on trying to catch Harry’s eye to try and form some kind of non-verbal apology, he almost misses the six foot something Adonis of a model moving towards him, taking a seat in the chair that Alicia gestures him into. He’s got hair sheered short, dark skin and gorgeous chocolate-coloured eyes. He blinks up at Louis and smiles, and Louis feels himself going rather stupidly gooey.

Whatever. His boyfriend is still glaring at him from across the room and he has a new job to do, apparently.

“Louis, this is Oliver; Oliver, Louis,” Alicia introduces. Louis shakes his hand and prays to every deity he can think of that his palm isn’t too sweaty. “Can you show me the look on him? As quick as you can, preferably.”

Louis nods, then busies himself with rummaging around in his case for the Anastasia palette that has some beautiful golds but also a deep, dark navy that he plans to blend into the look carefully. He locates it and, along with a clean set of brushes and a bottle of Mac Fix+, sets them on the table behind him. He tries not to let the fact that Harry seems to have disappeared get to him, so he cracks open the palette and gets to work at what he does best, tongue poking out between his teeth in concentration.

It takes him just under ten minutes to finish the look. Alicia glances at it, seemingly approving, and then gestures over another model – this time a shorter, ghostly pale lad with piercing blue eyes. Louis applies a neutral smoky eye to him, then before he knows it it’s the beginning of the show and he’s done the make-up of twelve male models on top of Harry’s (and Harry’s still nowhere to be seen).

Grunting miserably, he packs his stuff away sloppily then goes to take his seat in the crowd. Whether he’s mad at him or not, there’s no way in hell Louis’s missing his boy’s first catwalk show. He’s sat in between Gemma and Anne, who takes his hand nervously as the lights go down, which Louis completely understands. He’s terrified for so many reasons right now, but he forgets them all easily the second Harry walks out.

He looks absolutely _incredible_ , dressed in a tailored blazer over a purple satin shirt. Skinny jeans in a chequered print cling to his legs like a second skin, and the stage lights bear down on his face. Even from halfway to the back of the crowd Louis can still make out the glitter round his eyes, the bronzer dusting on his cheeks and the colour painted across his gorgeous lips.

“Did you do his make-up?” Gemma whispers in his ear, eyes never leaving her brother. Louis can’t bear himself to tear his eyes away either so he just nods, reaching for her hand too. Gemma squeezes it, seeming to understand, and Louis keeps staring, transfixed, as Harry disappears off the catwalk and backstage.

Harry does two more walks, one in swimwear and one in casualwear. Each time he comes out he looks like he was made to be up there, focused and angelic and smouldering. As far as Louis’s concerned, he’s never looked better, and even though he’s probably a little biased he doesn’t think any of the other models particularly hold a candle to his boy.  But he gets a sick feeling in his stomach when he remembers that after this Harry’s probably still going to be mad at him, even after an incredible show, so he sits back and watches as best he can without letting himself mope.

After the show, Gemma and Anne squeeze him in a tight hug, both completely ecstatic and oblivious to the fact that Louis and Harry are fighting. “I could cry,” Anne mumbles into his shoulder, squeezing him so tight he feels like he could burst. “You made him look fantastic, my darling, I’m so proud of you too.”

“Thank you,” Louis manages to croak, slightly overwhelmed with it all because the models are coming out now, and the ones that recognise him and shooting him winks and thumbs ups before finding their own families. Anne and Louis break apart just in time for them both to make eye contact with Harry, who just so happens to be the last, and Louis’s chest tightens even more as Harry pelts into his mother’s arms.

“My little boy,” Anne coos, jiggling Harry from side to side. Louis stands back, slipping one hand into Gemma’s, who takes it easily without question and just carries on babbling away proudly.

“You looked so wonderful up there, baby bro!”

Louis can see how wide Harry’s grinning, and when he pulls back he looks rather dazed. “Fuck it,” he mutters, quiet enough not to cut Gemma off but loud enough so she hears him, shooting him a curious look. He untangles their hands and darts forward, barely giving Harry any time to prepare before he’s squeezing him tight, arms around his shoulders and face tucked into his neck. Harry’s arms come up to catch him, cuddling him back like it’s the most easy and natural thing in the world. They both press together close, probably cuddling a little too intimately for in front of the in-laws, but Louis has no intention of letting him go. Harry’s warm and pliant, and he smells like cologne and sweat and new clothes. Louis wants to burrow into his arms, move in even further, and show Harry that he’s his forever.

“Lou,” Harry chokes out, nuzzling his sweaty nose into Louis’s hair. “Lou, I…”

“Baby, shush,” Louis coaxes, because he has a feeling that if Harry says much more he’ll end up bawling in the lobby of this fancy exhibition hall. “We’ll talk later, yeah?”

“Lou…” Harry says again, pulling back and cupping his face. “And… and all of you, I guess. Well, I know. Okay, I’ve, um, there was a scout. At the show.” He keeps his arms round Louis’s middle and looks him straight in the eye as he says, “they want me to walk London Fashion Week. For Lanvin. I’d be one of the leading males.”

“Are you… are you fucking serious?” Louis all but yells excitedly. He crashes himself back into Harry’s chest and squeals, then squeezes his boyfriend even tighter. “You’re going to London Fashion Week, oh my god, baby!”

“I know,” Harry says, shaking his head in disbelief and opening his arm so Gemma can hug into his other side. “I know, it’s so bloody surreal right now. I never thought, not even in my wildest dreams that I’d…”

“But you did, baby,” Louis says, laughing into his chest. Harry kisses him on the top of the head and nuzzles into him, sounding breathless. “I… god, I love you so much. You were so beautiful out there, you were absolutely the best one.”

“You’re just saying that,” Harry chuckles, wrapping him in an even tighter hug. Louis shakes his head.

“I’m not, I’m absolutely not,” he insists. “You belong on that runway, baby. You were born for it.”

Harry sounds like he’s half laughing, half crying at this point so Louis pulls back again, cups Harry’s face very gently in his hands and kisses him, letting all the pride and joy and love he has for his boy pour out of him in the best way. It’s only short (they’re in public, after all) but when they pull back Louis instantly feels ten times better, and so does Harry. His smile is reaching his eyes again and some of the tension in his shoulders seems to have relaxed.

He doesn’t let go of Harry for the rest of the evening, not even when Anne and Gemma go to hug them goodbye so the pair of them can go to the after-party, and he only lets go of Harry then so he can go for a piss.

He’s standing by the bar, waiting for his beer and Harry’s glass of Pinot Grigio, and he can’t stop fucking _bouncing_ on the soles of his feet because Harry’s going to London bloody Fashion Week, for crying out loud. He can barely believe how far his boy has come in a year, already can’t believe he’s at the kind of party where you can see Nick Grimshaw, Cara Delevingne, Alexa Chung and Gigi Hadid. Everyone around him is completely gorgeous, all very tall and have an air of importance about them. It makes him miss Harry already.

He doesn’t have to wait long, though, because Harry slides back to his side only a few minutes later, hair now up in a fluffy bun and redressed in an outfit of his own that Louis knows well – tight black jeans and his favourite patterned shirt. He sets his beer on the bar and reaches for him wordlessly, kissing him a little longer, a little firmer this time. Harry rests his hands lightly on Louis’s chest and kisses back, shuffling forward so they’re touching as much as they can be.

“Missed you,” Louis mumbles, pulling back ever so slightly but keeping one hand tangled in some of the loose hairs at the base of Harry’s neck. Harry hums and kisses him again. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” Harry sighs, reaching over Louis’s shoulder and taking a long gulp of wine. “Felt like I hadn’t pissed since yesterday or something, bloody hell.”

“Beautiful,” Louis tells him. He sighs and then takes a deep breathe, nervous about whether to even say it. “It’s good to give you a cuddle, you know. I thought you weren’t going to talk to me for the rest of the day.”

Harry lets out a sigh of his own, setting his glass back down and turning to Louis. His giant hands cup Louis’s cheeks and Louis panics that he’s really fucked up this time before Harry kisses his forehead, long and lingering. When he pulls back, Louis’s brows are furrowed, but Harry gently reaches forward and smooths them down.

“Honestly?” Harry says, teasing a loose strand of Louis’s fringe, “I wasn’t going to. You did really piss me off this morning, Lou, like really bad.” He shakes his head. “It was stupid of you, you have to know that.”

“I do know that,” Louis replies quietly, and he would be hanging his head in shame if Harry’s grip on it wasn’t so firm. “I did. But I wanted… oh, I dunno, I wanted to give you a bit of something else, you know? Like all I could hear around me were these idiot stylists chatting away about how make-up would ruin some of the male models and it felt like a bit of a personal attack, okay? And I could have easily taken it off you, babe. I just wanted to see what it would look like.”

Harry’s quiet for a few more minutes. “I… I didn’t even think about how easy it would have been to take off,” he says, sounding sheepish and apologetic. “But still, you need to ask me these things next time.”

“I will,” Louis promises, and he wraps a hand around Harry’s wrist and squeezes. He’s vaguely aware of people trying to get to the bar for drinks around them, so he carefully presses up on tiptoes to kiss Harry once more real quick, then he gestures with his head to the side so they can move out the way.

Grabbing their drinks, they head over towards some of the other models Harry was walking with today. Louis recognises a couple of them from his make-up chair and he waves at them, assuming Harry is about to lead him over there to chat with them, but instead he leads him past with a hand on his waist, nudging him into a secluded corner. Clearly their earlier conversation isn’t quite over.

Harry sets down his drink and leans in, keeping their heads bowed together. It feels intimate and must look intimate from the outside, so Louis doubts they’ll be disturbed. He’s not sure yet whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, however.

“So I’ve been asked to do Fashion Week, yeah?” Harry starts by saying, and Louis can’t bite back the smile. He nods and squeezes Harry’s hip, who can’t seem to stop smiling either. “Yeah, I know, fucking hell, Lou. I feel like I’m fucking dreaming.”

“You’re not,” Louis assures, smirking as Harry continues to shake his head in disbelief. “You are absolutely going to smash it, baby, I can’t wait.”

“It’s not, like, one hundred percent for sure,” Harry says. “I still have a couple of meetings to go to, and more headshots and photoshoots and stuff need to be taken first.”

“But they’re still pretty much definitely picking you,” Louis says, not questioning, just stating. “You’re still the next fucking face of Lanvin.”

Harry beams. “And speaking of my face,” he says lowly, then starts digging around for something in his pocket, “ah! Okay, so.” He holds out a card, which Louis reaches up to try and snatch, but Harry just holds it up higher and he pouts. “Listen a minute,” he says firmly. “They asked me who my team were, and I said I only had a make-up artist, and they asked your name. So I told them, and they said they hadn’t heard of you, and I said that’s fair enough because he’s my boyfriend and he’s actually still working to qualify.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “So I am _your_ make-up artist now?” he asks, hands on hips.

“This is why I said wait, don’t get snooty yet,” Harry says haughtily. Louis nods at him to continue. “They asked if you had done anything else, so I told them you did most of the lad’s eye make-up for the show today. And they were really very impressed.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, voice coming out smaller than he wanted. Harry smiles and puts two fingers underneath his chin.

“Yeah,” he nods. “And they wanted me to bring you along to my meeting at the start of the New Year.”

“What?” Louis asks, breath hitching against his will on the word. Harry’s grinning, looking smug and delighted and Louis’s still so confused. “So they can officially hire me on as your staff or what?”

“No, babe,” Harry chuckles. “No, as in, they want you to bring in a portfolio because they think you’re really talented, and they might want to give you an internship. At Lanvin.”

“Um,” Louis says, because he really can’t think of anything else to say right now. “A-at Lanvin?”

“Yes, baby, at Lanvin,” Harry says, his grin still wide and bright and proud. “You could be a make-up artist for real live catwalk models.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Louis hiccups, hand curling in the front of Harry’s shirt. “Are you… is this… Harry Edward Styles, I swear to god…”

“I’m not kidding,” Harry giggles. He hasn’t stopped beaming, and maybe, just maybe, Louis thinks he might be as proud of him as he is of Harry, which makes him feel lighter and happier than he thought it would. “We have a couple of months to gather you together a portfolio, yeah – so you can practice on me as much as you need – and then you could be working for Lanvin.” He slides his hands up and shakes at Louis’s shoulders. “At _Lanvin,_ Louis.”

“Shut _up_ a second,” Louis growls, shaking his head at his boyfriend while he gets his head round this.

This could be an incredible foot in the door for him. Lanvin has had some amazing names model for them – Christy Turlington, Amber Valletta, _Kate fucking Moss._ And with any luck he’d be working with Harry (and possibly even the other male models), which sounds like the icing on the cake. If he can get his shit together and come up with a portfolio that showcases his talents and his uniqueness, he could very well be in there.

Not only that, he’s not even qualified and fucking Lanvin know this and want him anyway. He wouldn’t even need a qualification, not with working for Lanvin at London Fashion Week under his belt,  and it could get him in anywhere, to any job in the make-up world if they like his stuff.

Lots of pressure, but nothing like this is meant to be easy, is it?

And this is all because he put a little bit of purple on Harry’s eyelids.

“Lou?” Harry asks, eyes raking over his face concernedly. Louis blinks a few times, unsure of how long he zoned out for, and uncurls his stiff hand from the front of Harry’s shirt, shaking it out and then using it instead to cup Harry’s face and slam their lips together.

The kiss is incredibly inappropriate for their current location and setting, but Louis licks into Harry’s mouth anyway, nipping at his bottom lip playfully as Harry whines and scratches his fingers up Louis’s back. It’s rough and passionate and drawn out, and by the time they break apart they’re both panting with eyes blown wide, lips pink and skin hot.

“I vote we leave,” Harry says, voice low and rough. Louis nods, wrapping his hand around Harry’s wrist and dragging him towards the exit, barely even noticing when he almost bumps them both into a Kardashian.

Oh, well.

They hop in a cab and forgo seatbelts in order to keep pressed together, legs tangled and fingers linked. Louis has to use extreme self-control not to mouth at Harry’s long neck, flushed and gorgeous in the dark light of the cab. Instead, he focuses on twisting one of Harry’s rings around, purring and preening when Harry presses several hot, wet kisses to the soft patch of skin behind his ear.

“Don’t,” he huffs, though he doesn’t make much of an effort to fight him off. “Baby, no, wait ‘til we’re home.”

“Can’t,” Harry rasps. “Love you so much, wanna…”

“Harry, no,” Louis gasps, his grip on Harry’s hand tightening like a vice. “We should w-wait, I really think…”

Harry proceeds to giggle and flicks his tongue out instead, laving it gently over the bite mark he’s left. Louis swears under his breath and just lets it happen, because he’s feeling rather boneless now it’s begun. Maybe Harry will even carry him into the house and to bed.

Somehow, Louis manages to pay the driver without spontaneously combusting, and the two manage to get inside their shitty flat with minimal injury. It’s in quite a crummy little block; the stairs are always slippery for one reason or another, the door requires kicking in a very specific spot to get them in and Louis is ninety-five percent sure someone steals their post a lot of the time, but it’s their home.

Well…

“You’re a fucking supermodel,” Louis croaks, dragging Harry forward so he’s draped across his back. The angle is awkward, but he manages to turn his head and snog him anyway. “And I’m about to do make-up for Lanvin. _Lanvin,_ fucking hell. I bet they’ll pay us so fucking well.”

“Mmmm, keep talking,” Harry purrs, leaving a rather angry mark on Louis’s neck. “Tell me how successful you’re gonna be.”

“How successful I’m going to be?” Louis asks somewhat incredulously, wiggling his hips to get his key out of his pocket. “Baby, you’re going to front a fucking runway show. All eyes will be on you. Everyone in the fucking room will want a piece of you.”

“Not theirs though,” Harry grunts, shoving Louis through the door and slamming it closed, then kissing him hard up against the coat cupboard. “Only… yours… Lou. Only ever… _Jesus…_ yours.”

Louis smirks, fingers going to the buttons on Harry’s shirt and undoing them as deftly as he can. He shoves it from Harry’s shoulders, only struggling a little when a button gets caught in his necklace, then latches his mouth onto Harry’s nipple. “Talk more,” he mumbles, mouth still puckered around it. “Come on, love, tell me how rich we’re gonna be.”

Harry’s fingers are trembling as they hook into Louis’s hair. “Gonna be such a dream team, you and me,” he stammers out, tugging deliciously. “Gonna get rich, gonna… _fuck…_ gonna take you to Paris.” Louis hums and swaps sides. “P-Paris and Milan and LA, baby. Gonna fuck you so good in every city. On expensive bedding in the best hotels.” He gasps and stumbles a little, unbalancing Louis a bit, but he keeps his footing and drags him towards the bedroom instead.

“Yeah?” Louis says, giggling rather breathlessly as Harry presses him onto the bed. His shirt bunches up under his armpits and he squirms as Harry starts mouthing at his ribcage, kissing down his body. “Gonna fuck me in the Ritz? Kiss me on top of the Eiffel Tower then take me to bed in the Hotel du Louvre?”

“I’m gonna…” Harry starts, stopping when he gets to Louis’s waistband. He kisses over the soft swell of Louis’s tummy as he pops open his button, sliding the trousers down his legs slowly so they crumple to the floor. “I’m gonna give you a fucking ring on top of the Eiffel Tower, baby, just fucking watch me.”

Louis gasps loudly, back arching as Harry chooses that exact moment to put his mouth on Louis’s dick, mouth hot and wet over his boxer briefs. He sucks loudly, mouth over fabric, but for once in Louis’s life he doesn’t want Harry down there, he wants him up where he can kiss him and tell him off for saying such a sappy, romantic thing at a silly time.

“Come here,” he coaxes, breath coming out ragged as Harry shuffles back up. Their tongues meet before their mouths do and Louis grabs at Harry’s hair, keeping him there so he can fuck his tongue in and out of his mouth. “God, I fucking love you,” he says when Harry breaks the kiss again, attaching his lips to Louis’s neck instead. “Prettiest boy I’ve ever fucking seen, you are.”

“Not as pretty as you,” Harry tells him, voice rough.

Louis tries to scoff, but it comes out more of a moan as Harry sinks his teeth into the flesh around his nipple. “I’m not the one on the catwalk, babycakes. Love it though, love it so much, seeing you up there…” He gulps loudly as he feels hot air being blown over his cock once more, his briefs damp from Harry’s mouth and from where he’s been leaking precum. “Knowing you’re mine… knowing I’m gonna – oh my _Christ –_ marry you some day.”

“Know you do,” Harry grins, snapping the elastic of Louis’s boxers down so his cock springs loose, lying hard and curved against his belly. “You’ve always been a possessive little shit.”

“Wouldn’t you be if you had the prettiest boy in the worl- oh, _oh…_ ” Louis chokes out, hands fisting in the sheets as Harry sinks down, covering his cock in a glorious wet heat that has Louis moaning loudly in no time at all.

Harry’s always been wickedly skilled at giving head, and while Louis likes to make jokes about it and blame his affinity for bananas, he’s never been more grateful than he is right now. Harry’s gorgeous between his legs, mouth stretched wide and lips kiss-bitten and pink. His eyes are glassy, his hair falling out of his bun to the point where the hair tie is just tangled in a curl, and Louis wants to be wrecked beyond belief.

Louis buries his face in his arms, writhing about on the bed as Harry sucks him off. He’s only vaguely aware that he’s mumbling incoherently, babbling some kind of chorus that could be “ _please please please_ ” but could also be something else. Harry slides off slowly, tongue out and lapping as he pulls himself up and off him, then starts mouthing at Louis’s shaft. He presses sloppy kisses all over it, any part he can reach, as he fumbles with his belt, eventually managing to get his impossibly tight trousers off over his hard dick.

“Get the lube, baby,” he says hoarsely, and Louis whines as the mouth leaves his dick once and for all but obliges, rummaging around under their pillows for their little bottle of Durex. He shoves it down the bed just as Harry crawls back up it, now completely naked. Pressing his mouth to Louis’s again, he slides an arm under Louis’s back while the other fumbles with the pump of the bottle. Louis’s legs obediently drop open, wide enough for Harry to sit between them with access to his hole. A few heady kisses later, Harry pulls back, mouth slick, and manages to slick up two fingers, which he then brings to circle Louis’s rim.

Louis’s body starts to shudder as the tip of Harry’s index finger breaches him, and he whines as Harry slowly pushes it in to the knuckle. The moans and groans are half pleasure, half frustration, because both of them know that Louis can take two of Harry’s fingers like this, but Harry seems hell-bent on drawing this out, sliding the finger out then in again so slowly that Louis whines about it.

“It’s not made of bloody glass,” he rasps, clenching down hotly. Harry snorts but obediently pushes in a second. He keeps up the torturous pace, however, two fingers pumping in and out until Louis starts thrashing.

“Har _ry,_ ” he chastises, then gasps and moans as Harry finally relents and curls his fingers up towards his prostate. “ _Ohhhh._ ”

“You like that, love?” Harry teases, voice about six octaves lower than usual. Louis is just such a sight like this, moaning in his arms and with his whole body jolting at even the smallest touch to his prostate. He’s the best Harry’s ever had, without a doubt, if not only because they’re probably the love of each other’s lives, but because he’s responsive and vocal and tight and _beautiful._

“You know I do,” Louis cries in response, placing his feet flat on the bed and using Harry’s arm for support as he rocks himself forwards a little, hungrily seeking to take Harry’s fingers deeper. “Want another, come _on._ ”

“As you wish,” Harry smirks, quickly squirting some more lube out onto Louis’s hole so the third finger slides in more readily. He barely gives him time to adjust before he curls his fingers up, all his attention focused on Louis’s prostate, and Louis moans even louder, feet slipping down as his back arches high with sheer pleasure. His cock is painful and his body feels like it’s on fire, so eager is he for this, and he grabs Harry by the necklace and tugs him forward so he can smash their mouths together (not that it really works because every time his prostate gets some attention he ends up breaking the kiss anyway).

“Come _on,_ Harry, fuck me,” he begs, hands sliding up to hang limply in Harry’s now completely loose hair. “Need it, come on, inside me.”

Harry kisses him again as he pulls his fingers out slowly, then uses the same lube-slick hand to sloppily coat his hard prick in more of it. Louis tries to spread himself wider for him, thighs apart and mouth open, and Harry presses himself up onto his knees and looms over him, guiding his cock into Louis’s hole while his other hand grabs at the meaty flesh of Louis’s arsecheeks.

“Mother of…” Louis starts to say but words are lost as Harry presses in deeper, any coherent thought he may have had going out the window as Harry practically folds him in half. Harry looms further into him, peppering his face with kisses to try and lessen the initial sting, but Louis feels so _full_ and slightly overwhelmed with it all that he can’t do much else than let Harry fuck his tongue in and out of his mouth.

Once he’s almost completely sheathed, Harry pulls back up and just grins at him for a second. Despite his slightly throbbing arsehole and his aching thighs, Louis’s happy just to let him, and he reaches for Harry’s hand and kisses his palm. Harry’s hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat, his skin flushed, and today Louis watched him walk down the catwalk in front of and to the cheers of four thousand people, but he’s never looked more beautiful than he does in this moment.

Harry manoeuvres Louis’s legs so there’s one resting on each of his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the little tattoo on Louis’s ankle that he did himself with Indian ink back when they were drunk off Lambrini in their second year of uni. He pulls back and then thrusts in again, picking up the pace easily. From the position they’re in he can press much deeper than he usually can and Louis goes mad for it, gulping and gasping and moaning on almost every upward thrust.

 “More,” Louis hears himself begging, and _Christ,_ he doesn’t beg but Harry is just… he’s a fucking _picture,_ and Louis can’t really bring himself to form coherent strings of words but Harry’s words earlier – _only yours_ and _I’m going to buy you a ring_ – are echoing through his mind. He wants Harry in every single possible way. “Harder, baby, more.”

Harry presses forward gingerly, mindful of how stretched apart Louis’s thighs are, but keeps thrusting in and out, until his face is tucked into Louis’s neck, breath hot as he mumbles, “prettiest boy in the entire world, aren’t you?”

“No, you,” Louis whines, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck. With every thrust up both their bodies jolt, and the hard press of Harry’s tummy against Louis’s prick and the loud slap of Harry’s balls against Louis’s arse are intoxicating enough that Louis could come from just this. But Harry keeps clinging to him, words like, “beautiful” and “mine” and “love of my life” being mumbled into his sweaty skin, and gradually his thrusts get slower, sloppier, and he’s so _close…_

“Can I roll you over, baby?” Harry asks in a gravelly voice, peppering kisses to Louis’s jaw. “Wanna make you come but it’ll be easier on your belly…”

“No,” Louis says firmly, locking his legs awkwardly around Harry’s shoulders, anchoring him in place. “Wanna see your stupid face.” It’s the longest sentence he’s said in ages, and it startles a laugh out of Harry, which in turn makes Louis giggle and cling on a bit tighter. Reluctantly, Harry pulls back and slides out of him, which makes Louis’s whole body uncurl and flop onto the mattress. He whines loudly in protest, making grabby hands back for Harry, but Harry ignores them for a moment in favour of reaching for a pillow that they’d knocked to the floor. He slides it under Louis’s hips, raising his bum high enough so he can press back inside easily. From this angle, he can’t press as deep but he does have a bit more leverage to thrust with, and pretty soon his pace is back to its previous bruising force.

His orgasm almost takes him by surprise – one minute he’s being fucked into the mattress and the next there’s a hand on his prick, tugging him hard and fast to an orgasm that hits him all over. His toes tingle and his back arches, nearly dislodging Harry from inside him as hot, sticky cum shoots up his belly and all over Harry’s hand. His hole spasms and clenches around Harry, tight like a vice, whose own orgasm follows not thirty seconds later.

Louis reaches up for him and kisses him for a long time, keeping Harry inside him until he goes completely soft. It’s cold in their room – their heating is usually rather shitty – and now Harry’s not keeping him warm and sweaty his teeth start to chatter, a huge shiver travelling down his body. He wiggles his bum and Harry takes it as an invitation to slide out, so he does, leaving Louis feeling empty and even colder.

“It’s fucking freezing,” he whines, pouting and propping himself up on his elbows as Harry slides off the bed. “Where are you going?”

“Turning on the shower,” Harry says. There’s tacky cum clinging to his happy trail, and his prick is swinging almost comically between his legs. Louis loves him _so much._ “You know what the hot water is like at the best of times; can’t imagine it’s amazing at, like, two in the morning.”

“It’s two in the morning?” Louis asks incredulously, rolling over to look at their bedside clock. Sure enough, it reads 2:16 in bright red numbers, and he whistles and flops back onto the pillow. “Damn, you fucked me good there, didn’t you, Styles?”

“I did, didn’t I?” Harry calls over the sudden rush of water from their tiny ensuite. He steps back out and comes back to the bed, a flannel in hand. “The water’s fucking freezing, so I’ll just give you a clean and then we’ll just snuggle, yeah?”

“Jesus _Christ,_ ” Louis yelps as the flannel comes into contact with his already cold skin, and he shoves it away until it drops wetly to the ground.

Harry raises an eyebrow and picks it back up. “I did just warn you, you tit,” he chastises, rubbing it over Louis’s belly again because he can protest. He tosses it back towards the door of the ensuite and then bundles Louis into a hug, sliding them under the duvet pressed chest to chest.

“Love you,” Louis mumbles into his shoulder. “Love you so fucking much.” Harry kisses his ear and snuggles them a bit closer, keeping them in a cosy silence until Louis asks, “did you really mean it?”

“Really mean what?” Harry asks on a yawn. Louis squirms a bit.

“That thing you said… about the ring?”

Harry nods and shrugs. “Course I did, love. When we’ve got money I’m going to buy you your dream ring and then take you to Paris.”

“Oh,” is all Louis can muster. “That’s…” He squirms again, and Harry pulls back and cups his face carefully.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks, all concern and worry. But Louis shakes his head, reaching up to cover Harry’s hands on his own face, because he hasn’t at all.

“No, babe,” he says gently, turning his head a little to kiss Harry’s pinkie finger. “No, it’s not that, it’s…” He sighs, dropping his hands from his face so he can trail his fingers down Harry’s bare arm. “I just…”

“Louis, what?” Harry asks carefully, eyes wide and confused. Louis just shakes his head again.

“You’ll think it’s really daft, Haz, I…”

Harry pauses, swallows, and then asks, “you don’t think I’m being too, like, presumptuous or anything, saying that you’ll definitely say yes or something? Because I just thought, like, we’re pretty solid and stuff…”

“If you asked me to marry you now I’d say yes,” Louis says earnestly, and he absolutely would. “If you ask me again in two years I’ll say yes. It’s as simple as that for me.”

Harry nods tightly. “Then what’s wrong, Lou?” He hesitates. “Do you not think we’ll make it or something?”

“I don’t doubt for a second that you will,” Louis says, fingers moving up to play with the short hairs at the back of Harry’s neck. He huffs an embarrassed laugh, hiding his face in Harry’s chest. “I mean it when I say it’s daft, love.”

“Lou…”

“Just…” Louis starts, sighing, then kisses Harry on the mouth, hard. “I just love you so much, yeah? And this morning…” He pauses and he can see Harry visibly sigh, deflating a little into the sheets. “Yeah, you see? This morning you were so mad at me, and tonight you’re talking about proposing, it’s just a bit…”

“You’re an idiot.” Harry cuts him off, then kisses him once more. “I wasn’t mad enough to break up with you, you silly bugger.”

“You would have been if she hadn’t loved it,” Louis tells him.

“But she did love it,” Harry says. “And I was mad but I’m not anymore. Because I don’t even want to say you shouldn’t have done it, because in doing it we both got given these fucking amazing opportunities.”

Louis pauses, fingers still carding through Harry’s matted hair. Harry doesn’t say anything either, but he tugs him in for a closer cuddle, which makes Louis feel a little better.

“Told you it was daft,” he grumbles. Harry just laughs and kisses the top of his head.

“Wait until we make it big time, then we’ll see who’s the daft one,” he says. “Come on, the shower will probably be hot by now.” He tries to extract himself from the tangle of limbs but Louis whines and grips on. “Louuu! We have all night and all of tomorrow for this.”

“We have to entertain your mum and sister tomorrow,” Louis says, and he clings to Harry until Harry groans and shifts forward, shoving an arm under Louis’s knees so he can scoop him up and carry him into the bathroom bridal-style. “Ohhhh, put me down!”

“How else was I meant to get you up?” Harry asks, nudging the pair of them forward into their cramped little shower cubicle and setting Louis down straight under the spray. “And anyway, we still get a lie in, kind of. We’re not meeting them for lunch until half twelve.”

“Happy days then,” Louis says, reaching past Harry for the shower gel. He bends down to grab it, and on the way back up smacks his head on the little shelf built in to one corner that never has anything on it. “Fucking shitting fucking _balls,”_ he screeches, almost dropping the shower gel in pain. Harry reaches out to steady him but he’s laughing, a beautiful ugly sound that bounces off the glass panes. “Fuck you, Harry, that fucking hurt.”

“Babe,” Harry giggles, winding an arm around his shoulders. He tugs him into his chest and kisses the spot that was hit. “You’re a clumsy idiot, aren’t you?”

Louis turns his face and glares. “I don’t like your attitude, Styles. Just because you’re a supermodel now does not mean you can be rude to those who suck your dick and pay half your bills.”

Harry just continues to chuckle, which Louis thinks is very rude. He manages to pinch one of Harry’s nipples, who then manages to slide forward on the slippery shower floor, and they end up shoved in a corner precariously with bruised knees.

“You’re going to pay for that,” Louis groans, pushing back with hands against the wall so they’re both upright again. “Honest to Christ, I’m so…”

“Oh shut up,” Harry says, biting his shoulder and snatching up the shower gel. “Let me wash your ungrateful head.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Louis protests, but a couple of minutes later there are deft fingers moving across his scalp, so it’s pretty easy to sink into it and let Harry work his magic.

When they curl up in bed that night, Harry’s back to Louis’s front, Louis lets himself pretend for a moment that they are in fact curled up in a king-sized bed in a high-rise Parisian flat, with soft sheets and without the smell of damp and knowing that they’re still going to be rich when they wake up again.

It’s a nice thought, Louis ponders as he lets his eyes drift close and the familiar smell of his favourite boy lull him under. It’s a really nice thought indeed.

*

**Three years later**

“I’m pregnant.”

“You’re _what?”_ Louis screeches, kicking the door wide open so he can grab both his best mates and yank them into a tight hug. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re pregnant?”

“I am,” Perrie beams, frogmarching the pair of them backwards into the house so they’re not stood in the foyer. Louis’s glad, because he thinks he might cry any second after hearing that.

“Jesus, you two. That’s fucking amazing.” Zayn smirks and goes back in to hug Louis too, so they’re a tangle of limbs and smiles. “How long?”

Perrie laughs and winds an arm tighter around Louis’s middle, knocking her forehead against his shoulder. “About twelve weeks,” she tells him, running her other hand over her tummy. “We wanted you guys to be the first to know.”

“Well, Doniya knows,” Zayn says, dropping his handful of carrier bags on the floor near the door and then tugging his fiancé back into his side proudly. “And so does Soph because Perrie blurted it out over lunch with her one day-“

“I couldn’t help it,” Perrie whines, stamping her feet. “Have you ever known me to keep a secret this big?”

Zayn tuts fondly but carries on. “And so we’re telling you guys today, then doing a big Northern road trip this weekend. Newcastle for two nights and Bradford for one.”

“This is honestly amazing,” Louis says, leading them through into their kitchen. He opens their huge fridge and he grabs a bottle of Prosecco from one of the lower shelves, puts it on the counter and starts to unwrap the foil from around the top before he stops and slumps. “Oh, shit.”

Perrie snorts. “Tactful, Lou. Real smooth of you.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis wails, turning back to the fridge and yanking it open again. “I can offer you Ribena, or squash, or…” He picks up a carton from the door and wrinkles his nose at the label. “Goji berry juice?”

“What even is a goji berry?” Zayn asks, and pulls a face. “Honestly, your boy’s a weird one.”

“I want Ribena,” Perrie pipes up. “But in one of your silly expensive champagne glasses.”

“They’re not silly,” Louis protests, but gets one out for her anyway. “Harry would have something to say to you about that.”

“Harry ain’t here right now.” Perrie sticks out her tongue and chugs her Ribena before Louis’s even got the cork out the bottle of fizz. “However, I am, and I’m pregnant. I’ve gained the right to be demanding.”

“Where is Haz, anyway?” Zayn asks, tilting his glass so Louis can finally top him up. “Photoshoot?”

Louis shakes his head. “I’m not actually sure,” he tells them, filling up his own. “He got called in by his agent at arse o’clock this morning for some big important meeting.” He shrugs. “Probably something about another big job on the other side of the world, I’m guessing.”

Zayn snorts. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He pauses and takes a sip. “How was Tahiti, by the way?”

“Sweaty,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “Who cares about our dumb jobs anyway? I’m going to be an uncle, let’s talk about that!”

Perrie raises her empty glass dramatically. “To me, and to my fruitful womb!”

“To your fruitful womb,” Louis echoes, laughing into his glass. “May there be a hundred more baby Maliks running around to wreak terror and to make Zayn’s hair go grey.”

Zayn looks rather affronted, so Perrie reaches over and ruffles his fringe. “You’d look good with grey hair, darling,” she winks at him. “Very rugged.”

“I’m rugged now,” Zayn protests.

“You’re skinny and short,” Louis cackles at him. Zayn raises his eyebrows.

“Still taller than your arse.”

“My arse is amazing, and I’m _so_ over the height thing,” Louis grumbles. “Honestly, when you’re dating Harry Styles it’s easy enough to just accept being a short-arse. Being surrounded by tall, beautiful models on the daily does that to a person.”

“I hate it when you talk about Harry like he’s some kind of untouchable, famous entity that we should be in awe of you dating,” Perrie tuts. “Need we remind you that we had to live with your boring, ordinary arses for years.” She wrinkles her nose. “I saw more of your arse in those three years than I think I’ve ever even seen of Zayn’s.”

“That’s a filthy lie,” Louis shouts indignantly as Zayn bursts out laughing and the pair high-five. “You only caught us shagging, like, maybe four times?”

“Fuck off, mate,” Zayn snorts. “Four times a week, more like.”

“Why are we talking about my naked arse and not your unborn bundle of joy?” Louis whines. “Talk to me about that instead, like…” He takes another sip of Prosecco. “I wasn’t even aware you guys were trying.”

“We weren’t, in all honesty,” Perrie says. “I did want to wait until after the wedding, but I guess now…” She pauses to scoop Zayn’s hand up in hers, “now I think it’ll be nice to have the littlun at the wedding with us, won’t it, babe?”

“It will, yeah,” Zayn agrees, smiling softly. He looks completely ecstatic, happier than Louis’s seen his best mate in what feels like ages. Then again, it’s _been_ ages since he’s actually seen the pair of them, what with him and Harry having just been on three long trips away in the past two months. And clearly Zayn’s aware of that, too. “Hey, and I’m glad you’re here for us to share it with you. I’m glad you’re in the country for once.”

Louis smiles sadly. “I’m glad you came round. I would’ve been super bitter if you’d shared it with Niall and El first.”

Zayn and Perrie both laugh at that, which loosens Louis’s chest a bit. “Yeah, well,” Perrie hums, “if you’d have been in Tahiti then maybe Niall would have been the one we chose to be godfather, who knows?”

Louis pretends to pout, but then Perrie’s words hit him properly. “Wait, what?”

Perrie’s beaming, bright and happy, and she steps out of Zayn’s hold and puts both her hands on Louis’s shoulders. “This is what we really came here to ask. Will you, Louis William Tomlinson, be godfather to baby Malik once he or she comes into the world?”

Louis feels like his heart could burst. Normally he’d try to come up with something sarcastic that would make them all laugh, but he’s just so happy and proud of his best mates that he can’t do much more than nod a couple of times before yanking Perrie into a tight hug. Perrie’s hand fists in his hair, other arm snug around his waist, and she bounces them on the spot a few times before pulling back and smacking a kiss on his cheek.

“I… _really_?” Louis asks, just to make sure. “You want me to be his or her godfather?”

“Absolutely, mate,” Zayn says, arms open to tug Louis into their own embrace. “We’re asking you to be godfather – Harry will be godfather too, obviously, don’t let him think we forgot – and then Jesy – you remember Pez’s best mate Jesy, don’t you? – yeah, she’s godmother.” He pulls back and beams. “That’s why we wanted you to be first to know.”

Louis sniffs a bit pathetically. He is not going to _cry._ “This… _Jesus,_ you two, this means so fucking much. You don’t even know.”

“Oh, but we do,” Perrie says. Her hand is resting on her tummy again, her shiny engagement ring glinting under the low lights. “Because we’re going to have a fucking _baby,_ Lou!” She bounces on her heels and squeals. “Nothing is more exciting than having a baby and bloody hell, I never knew it was possible to love something this much already but…” She shrugs. “You’re our best mates, you know? I wish Harry was here for this but _god,_ I love you guys. Our littlun will have the best god daddies ever.”

“Plus you’re now rich as fuck,” Zayn grins, cuddling Perrie into his side. “So you’ll spoil them rotten and that’s the kind of positive influence we want in our kiddie’s life.”

“Arsehole,” Louis chides, but he can’t stop smiling, probably won’t stop smiling for the rest of Perrie’s pregnancy at this rate.

Zayn’s not wrong, though. He’s already planning the baby shower gifts in his head, and he’s definitely going to get them some little Vans, dress them up like their favourite uncle…

“No Doncaster Rovers merch though,” Perrie says sternly, jabbing her finger in his chest. “My bab is gonna be a Newcastle United fan whether either of you like it or not.”

Louis just shrugs. “I can work with that as long as they become a little fashionista.”

Perrie snorts. “Well, with both you and Harry as godparents I’d be offended if they became anything else.”

*

Zayn and Perrie leave as it starts to get dark, shrugging off Louis’s offer of dinner in order to get on the road. Louis hugs them both ridiculously tight and waves them off before returning to the kitchen with a plan to make dinner. He still hasn’t heard from Harry but he’s fucking starving, so decides to just knock up something quick that Harry can reheat in the microwave when he gets back. He settles on stir-fry and busies himself with finding all the ingredients, dotted around in their meticulously organised kitchen.

Since they moved into their new flat, Harry has bought what feels like a hundred and one new kitchen appliances. More often than not they’re things that Louis would never even have thought of, let alone thought he would ever _need,_ but he does have to (reluctantly) agree that some are useful. Like now, this machine that you slide a carrot into and it peels it in seconds. It probably costs a fortune, but hey, Harry earns a fortune and then some, so he’ll let it slide.

Lots of things they own seem to cost a fortune these days. Only last week, Harry had come home with a brand new pair of boots that cost more than their entire years’ worth of rent at uni. Ever since his career has taken off he’s become rather more frivolous, but he supposes that he has a point in saying “might as well…” to things now rather than panicking too much and not enjoying the earnings.

Louis can’t pretend he doesn’t enjoy it either. Along with the boots, Harry had also purchased a pair of jeans that Louis would never have spent the money on himself but he can appreciate them as a present. And oh boy, did he show Harry how much he appreciated them.

He pulls his phone out the pocket of them, unlocking it and scrolling through for Harry’s name. He dials his number but it rings to voicemail almost straight away. Louis tuts and tosses his phone onto the counter, annoyed. Harry’s always forgetting his phone charger when he goes out and it drives Louis nuts.

He heats up some oil and starts frying the noodles and the veg, humming along to S Club 7 under his breath. His engagement ring – a relatively new development, but a very welcome one nonetheless – taps against the work surface to the beat as he keeps the food moving in the pan. He hadn’t actually realised how hungry he was, and he’s a little tipsy from the Prosecco and a lot happy and he’s just…

He jumps and nearly drops boiling hot noodles all down his front as the door suddenly bursts open. “Louis!” he hears yelled over the door slamming shut and then Harry’s face appears in the doorway, his bun as lopsided as his big, dopey grin. “Louis, guess what!”

“What?” Louis asks, halfway to panicked and still reeling from the jump. He meets him halfway as they reach out for each other. “What’s happened?”

“They want me to be the lead,” Harry says, eyes wide and possibly teary. “For Paris Fashion Week, holy fuck, they want me to be a brand lead.”

“Fuck, lead male model?” Louis checks, and Harry nods wildly. “Baby!”

“But not for Lanvin,” Harry says. Louis’s brows furrow. “Or Givenchy. Or Boglioli.” Louis pulls back and tries not to look panicked. “For _McQueen,_ Louis. For Alexander fucking McQueen.”

“Alexander fucking McQueen?” Louis repeats with a yell, lunging himself forward into Harry’s arms. He tackles him back against the wall and kisses him with all he has. “You… fucking…McQueen, Harry?!”

“McQueen,” Harry says again, burying his face in Louis’s neck. “I did it, baby, I fucking…”

“You fucking,” Louis repeats in the same proud, disbelieving tone. He grabs Harry’s face and kisses him again. “You bloody superstar, you. You’re going to knock them dead. I’m so… _god,_ I’m so proud of you!”

“I know,” Harry beams, tongue poking out between his teeth. “We’re rivals now though. Opposite teams and all that.”

Louis raises his eyebrows coyly, snorting as his hands slide around Harry’s waist. “Who cares? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet and all that.” His fingers slide under the smooth silk of Harry’s dress shirt. “Just a shame I don’t get to do your make-up anymore. I miss that, miss getting you all dolled up for a big show.”

“Me too,” Harry admits, kissing Louis on the nose. “But I do also get to tell people my boyfriend is a make-up artist for Gucci, so. Swings and roundabouts, innit?”

“And now you get to come to Paris with me,” Louis grins, rocking the pair of them gently from side to side. “Not that you weren’t coming anyway, but you know. Now we can get both our rooms paid for on expenses.”

“Both our rooms. Yeah, alright,” Harry snorts. Louis pinches him.

“Alright, smartarse,” he drawls back. He pulls a face and Harry pulls one back, and they inch closer and closer to each other’s faces until their lips meet. They smile into the kiss and Louis moves his arms up to wrap around Harry’s neck, but then he pulls back quickly and slaps Harry on the chest.

“Ow!”

“Perrie’s pregnant!” Louis yells, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet and clapping his hands. Harry’s mouth drops open and Louis laughs as he kisses the corner of it. “Sorry, babe, but yeah. Perrie’s having a baby.”

“That’s amazing!” Harry says, awestruck. He brings his hands up to cover his mouth and giggles into them. “Oh my god, Louuu! We’re going to be uncles!”

“Godfathers, actually,” Louis laughs, cackling as Harry’s mouth drops open even wider and he lets out some kind of gargling sound. “Babe, baby. What on earth was that?”

“I’m just…” Harry says, shaking his head so any semblance of neatness that his bun had is completely lost, “in awe, Lou. This is, like, the best day ever. I get to actually live my dream and my best friends are having a baby, I’m so…”

“Me too, love, me too,” Louis says, hands running up and down the warm skin of Harry’s hips. “Like, I honestly feel like me heart could burst, I’m that proud of all of you. Especially you, though. Don’t tell Pez.”

“Like I’d dare,” Harry giggles. “Fuck, Lou…” He runs a hand through his messy hair. “I don’t know what to say, or do, or feel.”

“Give us a kiss, supermodel,” Louis orders, pressing right up to Harry’s chest and kissing him softly again. “I love you, you know.”

“Love you too, so much,” Harry says, and in a great display of sappiness draws Louis’s hand up to his mouth and kisses the ring. “Should we pack then?”

“Woah, slow down,” Louis tells him. “We’ve still got a few days. Plenty of time for that. Just give me another kiss and then we can think about it.”

They kiss and they kiss, until the forgotten stir fry sets off the fire alarm and they have to call in pizza. Harry complains about keeping his figure all the way through, so Louis gives a proper long work-out for desert.

It only seems fair, what with this being a special day at all.

*

Paris is beautiful, Louis always forgets. He’s had a picture of Harry in front of the Eiffel Tower as his phone background for as long as he can remember, but there’s something about being here that makes it even more special.

There’s something even more special about being able to love Harry in Paris. His face just lights up like the night sky and he gets excited over and points out the smallest little things that he thinks will make Louis smile. They usually (always) do.

Their hotel is gorgeous too, right in the city centre and overlooking the river. It’s one they’ve stayed in before – Harry didn’t get to model at last year’s Paris Fashion Week, unfortunately, but he had accompanied Louis on the trip because it was his last ever job with Lanvin. He got offered a job with Gucci not long after his make-up looks on men went viral, and he must say he’s really looking forward to styling the models for this year’s show. It’s a big one and he’s been a little more daring, a little more innovative, but he’s rearing to go.

They check in easily enough and take the lift up to their suite. It’s paid for in full by their companies, but McQueen are covering all Harry’s costs so Louis politely declined Gucci’s offer of an even grander hotel in favour of staying in the one that Harry proposed in.

Old habits die hard, and so do fond memories.

The first thing Louis does when he gets into the room is kick off his shoes, and the second thing he does is jump onto the bed and star-fish out on it, sighing happily. “So comfy,” he moans, rolling his head from side to side. “So big, so fluffy, so soft.” He cracks open an eye and looks to Harry, whose watching him in amusement. “Much like my man.”

Harry snorts and kicks off his own boots, coming to join Louis on the bed. He lays down next to him, resting his head on Louis’s tummy, and sighs. “Don’t wanna move. Don’t wanna go.”

“Me neither, not right now,” Louis agrees. “God, why are our jobs so high demand?”

“I know right,” Harry moans. “How long we got?”

Louis fumbles in his pocket for his phone, pulls it out and squints at the screen. “Like, not long at all.” He groans. “Urgh, I need to go over my looks one more time.” Tilting his head to one side, he glares at his bag that’s so far away. “Whyyy is it so far away?”

“You put it there,” Harry tells him. Louis whines, and then Harry whines, and they both whine loudly until Harry rather reluctantly stands up and goes over to the bag for him. “God, why are you the most difficult person…?”

Louis beams and once he’s close enough he tugs him down by his necklaces for a kiss. “Thank you, my sweet,” he murmurs, settling against the pillows before he digs around in the bag for his portfolio. While lots of artists seem to favour iPads these days, Louis still opts for paper copies stuck in a pretty notebook, simply because he finds it more personable. The pictures in it are all of Harry, El and Perrie, who are all still ready and willing to let Louis practice on them as much as he wants or needs, time permitting. He needs to send them all fruit baskets.

Well, not Harry. He’s just getting his eternal devotion or something.

Harry strides off into the bathroom while Louis flicks through his ideas, paying particular attention to one he really wants to get right. It’s a smoky eye look, but with bright orange undertones rather than brown or grey. It’s his goal – his _dream,_ really – to pull this look off tonight.

He hears the toilet flush and then Harry is back at his side, shuffling onto the bed and winding an arm around his shoulders. “You still nervous about this one?” he asks lowly, pressing a kiss into Louis’s temple.

“A bit,” Louis admits, shrugging. “I just, I need to perfect it, you know? I’ve got some of the best products in the world but if I can’t pull it out the bag then…”

“You will, though,” Harry says, simple and matter-of-fact. “You will.”

Louis huffs. “Yeah, but…”

“No buts, now,” Harry says sternly. Louis shuts up. “You wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t pull it off, love. You will, so stop worrying.”

“I guess, but…”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry complains. “Look, I’m six hours off doing the biggest walk of my life, do you hear me panicking?”

“Make-up and walking in a straight line are two completely different talents, darling,” Louis pouts.

Harry presses their lips together, giggling and shaking his head all the while. “Yeah, exactly. And you’re the talented one. So suck it up and stop panicking.”

“I’ll suck you up later,” Louis grumbles, and then realises that’s a pretty empty threat.

“I look forward to it,” Harry says merrily, kissing him one last time before hopping off the bed and heading over to his own bag. “Shall we get going?”

*

Louis smashes it. Harry smashes it. It’s probably the best day of Louis’s career, watching his best boy completely floor the audience while his make-up look that he created gets praised and wowed by members of the fashion community that eighteen year old Louis Tomlinson would have creamed over meeting, let alone have fawning over his work.

They should go to the after party. They don’t.

*

Louis used to think his favourite thing was getting rimmed by Harry in their big huge bed in London.

Louis was wrong.

Louis’s favourite thing is getting rimmed by Harry in their big huge bed in Paris.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he moans, almost to himself, legs spread wide and his face in his hands. “Oh, _oh, ohhhh,_ Harry…”

Harry has a tongue up his arse and a hand pumping away at Louis’s dick, so it’s probably unsurprising that he doesn’t answer. He continues his assault; the rough, hot press of his tongue probing Louis’s tired little body while he works away at himself with his other hand.

“Harry,” Louis moans again, long and broken. “Babe, _baby,_ make me come, make me…”

Harry’s mouth is suddenly around his dick, tight and wet and sloppy, and it’s barely a minute before Louis’s coming with a shout. It takes him by surprise and he swears he blacks out for a split second, but he comes back to earth when Harry comes up and kisses his slack mouth, just gentle presses of lips that Louis can sink into easily.

“Baby,” Harry says, voice low and serious. “Baby, can I come on you?”

“Anything you want,” Louis grunts, and he wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and clings on. “You can come in me if you want.”

Harry groans and shoves Louis’s legs together, grabbing the bottle of lube from next to his head and quickly pumps some onto his hand. He smooths some of the sticky liquid across the tops of Louis’s thighs and then uses the rest to cover his dick, before sliding his dick in between the soft skin.

Louis gasps and hangs on a little tighter, squeezing his legs together as tight as he can for Harry to fuck into. It’s over too fast and too slow, because Louis is sensitive and sore and tired but he’ll never, ever be tired of having Harry like this. Harry’s bright red in the face, soft under his hands and pliant, and Louis might be covered in sweat and lube and cum but it’s the only place he’d ever want to be in that moment.

“Love you,” Harry mumbles as he collapses forward, rolling Louis over with him onto their sides so the sheets don’t get any more disgusting than they already are. He yawns. “Love your thighs.”

“I feel so used,” Louis retorts dryly, but he doesn’t stop petting at Harry’s hair. It’s super soft and fluffy from the shoot. “Lucky for you I’m rather fond of you too though, so I won’t take it too personally.”

“Mmmm, good,” Harry hums. He settles his head against Louis’s chest and Louis can feel his eyelashes flutter against his nipple. He has to fight the urge to squirm. “I walked the best show of my life today, yeah? And all I could think about was you. All the way down, all I thought about is how proud I knew you’d be. Prettiest boy in Paris, you are, and you’re all mine and proud of me and shit.”

“I’ve been demoted.” Louis pretends to be indignant, but it’s a wasted effort. He’s so in love it makes his head spin. “And anyway, prettiest boy in Paris my arse. That’s you, model man. I’m just the hired help.”

“Hired help aka the one Vogue journalists called ‘the one to watch’ today,” Harry mutters, and Louis doesn’t have to look to know he’s rolling his eyes. “You can’t pull any of that hired help shit on me anymore, Tomlinson.”

“Still the hired help no matter how lucky I got,” Louis grumps petulantly. “Still not the model that just walked as lead model for Alexander Mc-fucking-Queen at Paris fucking Fashion Week.”

“Why do you always try and pit me against you?” Harry snuffles, and Louis knows he’d be glaring if he wasn’t already half-asleep. It has been a long day, he supposes he can’t really blame him. “Can you not just accept that you’re the prettiest boy as far as I’m concerned?”

There’s a pause, and then Louis harrumphs until Harry opens his eyes. When he does he leans down to kiss him, gentle and tender. “Alright, I’ll take it,” he murmurs, and Harry’s sleepy little face lights up. “Love you, superstar.”

“Love you,” Harry murmurs back, and then promptly falls asleep.

*

They adopt a cat and a dog. Louis starts his own make-up line and Harry’s on the front cover of several magazines. He gives seemingly endless interviews on the gender neutrality of make-up and flaunts off how proud he is of Louis at every possible turn. Louis sits front row at every single fashion show Harry walks in and the tabloids (and their friends) still comment about how they look at each other with the same stupid fond they did when they first met.

They’re probably the dreamiest team out there. Louis fucking _loves_ it.

 

 

 


End file.
